


The Blood Son

by Louis_the_Snake



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DC Rebirth Supersons, Son of Batman (2014)
Genre: Damian is 13 and would love Legos fight me, Damian is cute, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:59:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louis_the_Snake/pseuds/Louis_the_Snake
Summary: Just. Damian being sentimental. In his own backhanded way. Based on my own timeline and inspired by various tumblr posts.





	1. Nest

There’s a rule in the Wayne household about Damian. If you are not Dick, you let Damian initiate contact. Do not attempt to touch him. It’s always been a little tough with the kid, because honestly who knows what the League did to him for so long, but if you stick to that rule generally you won’t be stabbed.  
That said, there are a few exceptions. Sparring, of course, movie nights he will let people move him around if he’s tired enough and it isn’t Tim, and when he’s asleep. He can’t stab you when he’s running on three days of caffeine and ignoring bedtime. Unless he wakes up. Then there’s usually hell to pay.  
Alfred took advantage of the latter situation the most. He couldn’t wrestle Damian to bed like Dick, he never sparred with him, and he didn’t end up in the robin/batgirl pile during movie nights. If Damian was asleep, however, he could get him out of a chair or off the uneven bars, rings, or the weightlifting bench. The child was definitely Bruce’s son, to be able to sleep like that.  
Once evening, after Bruce had left the house, when Alfred made his rounds to Tim’s room, the gym, and the cave, he found Damian slouched over the keys of the terminal, reports on the League of Assassins rolling by. Alfred didn’t feign ignorance over Damian’s fears. He knew exactly why Damian was still losing sleep over the man who had ordered Damian’s manufacture. The face of Ra’s stared down from the upper-rightmost screen.  
Damian was possibly the most ill-mannered, ignorant, and all together difficult to handle child Alfred had managed to fall caretaker of. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a child. As scared and helpless as any of the family. Alfred closed the terminal, then checked that Damian was soundly asleep enough to be moved.  
He carried him up the elevator and down the impeccable hallway, to the room Damian had claimed- the one furthest from the common areas and closest to back exits, escape routes, and silence. A room least fitting for him. Alfred set him on his bed and tucked him in, reminded of Bruce as a child. Asleep, Damian was almost pleasant. Almost.  
After removing all the knives from Damian’s bedclothes and setting them on the nightstand, Alfred simply left. Damian would not sleep for long, but Alfred could deny knowing anything about his daring escape if he wasn’t there to see it.  
Just another Wayne boy to raise.


	2. Falafel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boy befriends a Falafel Vendor.

Damian didn’t like being babied. He’d stray away from Batman on patrol, like Jason, or find some quiet rooftop and just watch the city thrive, much to Bruce’s dismay, like Bruce. He didn’t want to be told what to do, either, so when the order came in to get something to eat, it might be a long night rounding up calendar man’s goons, he clicked his disappointment to the night air. He hadn’t the stomach for the swill Grayson ate, nor the inclination to stop for long.   
He dropped to the streets silently, hood up. There were many places around the city that were friendly to robins, seeing him as the child their city loves. Still seeing him as Dick Grayson. They marked themselves with a little ‘R’ sticker. Noodles, no. Ready-made convenience store goods, no. Curry? Maybe when Americans figured out how to make it. He wanted his mom’s Chai, even if it wouldn’t actually fill him up. He wanted something from home. The city smelled like wet stone and litter, but something else stuck out to him. Fava beans. Grayson told him once they smelled like horses. Fava beans do not smell like horses.   
He followed the shadows to one of those little carts that favored the street corners. The older man at the cart seemed more bored than attentive. He had the little ‘R’ sticker on the body of his cart.   
“I have three cats, child, you can’t sneak up on me.” The old man had a heavy Israeli accent.   
“I was not trying to. Do you sell falafel?” Damian cursed his own incompetence. He definitely was getting out of practice.   
“Yes, of course! Would you like a wrap?”   
Damian took note of the man’s limp, the slight favoring of his left ear, the little scars on his hands. He was old.   
“Yes please. Can I get extra peppers?” Damian realized the cart came up to his shoulders.   
“Of course, little robin. How’s it looking out there?”  
“Little robin? Is that what people are calling me?”  
“That or sword robin. Word has it you’re more violent than the other robins.”  
“Red hood might rival me on that. There are a lot of calendar goons out we need to round up.”  
The man handed him a wrap, flatbread wrapped around falafel and most of the available toppings. Damian offered him the listed price for a fully loaded falafel, but the man shook his head.   
“You’re robin. You are the child of this city. You eat free here.” The man stared him down.  
Damian’s mask shielded his eyes from joker gas, fear gas, acids, and powder weapons. It did not save him from the outpour of sincerity and trust this man placed in him. He took his hand back, but quietly slipped two hundred dollar bills in the tip bin.   
This place was not only robin-friendly, he decided. He spent the next two weeks using the downtime during patrol to map out the man’s nightly route, then posted it on alfred’s fridge, to be moved to the wall of children’s drawings later. He hoped the curiosity would draw the other vigilantes to investigate. The man deserved better customers than him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was some fun, to explore Damian's relationship with citizens.


	3. Costumes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is good at seeing through the stubbornness.

Halloween was a big night for Wayne manor, between Alfred’s bunny ears and passing out full candybars, Dick’s Ultimate Candy Gatherer’s Map, and the absurd decorations ‘Brucie Wayne’ was becoming known for. It was not a big night for Damian. He’d seen more bodies than most, some of which he’d killed himself, some of which more than rotten. The decorations, movies, and stories never made him as scared as he was facing his grandfather- or his father.   
He did like costumes for his animals. Titus was dressed as his namesake this year. Alfred the cat was dressed as alfred- cat ears included. Goliath was in his robin outfit. Bat cow was the surprise to most people. She wasn’t dressed as Batman, Nightwing, or even Red Hood. Damian had hand-made a Red Robin outfit for her.   
Tim did not think it was cute. Or funny. In fact, when Damian was asked, he said it was too good for Tim, that it was an insult to Batcow’s intelligence. He said Tim should be grateful he considered his costume worth a copy.   
But Dick knew. There was no way it would slip his mind. Damian was actually putting in the effort to engage Tim, as well as the cover-up. The excuses. For some reason, Damian had no trouble being affectionate in his weird roundabout way, but he couldn’t admit it.   
“So it’s a compliment.” The cave went silent.  
“Grayson I cannot believe you would accuse me of such nonsense.”   
“It’s really cute! And pretty well-made. Was this meant to be a costume for more than one year?”  
“No.” Damian took a step back.  
Tim continued to rant to Jason about Damian and Bat Cow. Everyone who wanted to go trick-or-treating went. Damian ended up conscripted into Alfred’s continued attempts to further improve the decor, which left him laying on the ground, barely moving, on his phone where no visitors could see it.   
Dick came back with the largest haul, of course, and snuck some into Damian’s room. Damian knew. Of course he knew. He was like Bruce, with a fifth the experience and a hundredth the resources. But he didn’t mind Grayson giving him candy. Even if it was pointless. And childish.   
Damian did not mention the Red Robin costume again.


	4. Lego

Damian found a spare set of Legos in the batcave, tucked away on a shelf. It might’ve been one of the Toymaker’s old creations, or something left over from a prank or stunt pulled by any of the more whimsical villains. He spent the next hour trying to figure it out, after determining that it wasn’t dangerous he wanted to solve the puzzle.   
He brought it out of the Batcave, and didn’t put it down for several days. He rearranged those blocks thousands of times, and eventually decided to actually research. Legos. They were simple, plastic toys. For children.   
Alfred noticed his new obsession before anyone else, even encouraging him by getting down some of Bruce’s old legos- a large city set and a large boat. Damian scoffed.   
He bought thousands of these blocks, basing the scale on the little people and the sets Bruce had. He took over a spare upper story bedroom, clearing the furniture. No one wanted to know what he was building. No one even asked until Dick stopped by after patrol and plopped down beside him.  
“So what’s up with the legos, Dami?”   
“I’m constructing a scale model of Gotham, I thought it might be a good cartography and scouting exercise. I’m not doing Bludhaven, so don’t think about making any requests to modify your apartment.”   
“Oh so it’s for training.” Dick grinned, laying his arm and most of his shoulder across Damian’s lap.  
“Or course. What did you think it was for?”  
“To play. To have some fun recreating your favorite places.”   
Jason recoiled at how close Dick was to the little devil.  
“Damian doesn’t play, Dick. Leave him alone.”   
“You don’t know that! He’s 13!”   
“I think you both should come see my models sometime, it might be rather informative for you.”  
“Of course!”  
“No way.”  
“Jason, play nice. Come see his Gotham, you never know.”  
“He’s got knives in there or something!”  
“Not yet.” Damian glanced up at Jason, but quickly back to his phone, idly messing with Dick’s hair.   
Damian’s models were detailed. He had some noticeable locals in their right place. A skater on the boardwalk. The old woman who set out birdseed in the narrows. The Falafel vendor everyone had found and by now adored. He had Wayne manor, several harbor boats, and Wayne tower, not to mention Arkham and the monorails. Each building was to scale, and each minifig was detailed enough to not only be recognizable, but to be inarguably that person. Tim was in the office at the tower, Red Hood was patrolling the narrows. Nightwing was hanging out at the Iceberg Lounge. Alfred was dusting the third library while Batman zoomed out of the back exit. Cass and Barbara were out for ice cream with a few of the out-of-town super ladies.   
“Dami, this is amazing! It looks just like Gotham!”  
“Went a little overboard, didn’t you, Squirt?”  
Jason hovered around the edges of the room, trying to keep an eye on Damian and the closer buildings. Just in case. Dick climbed around, stepping on the few open areas in intersections and parks to get a better look at everything.  
“No more than I needed to. I wanted to have a good sense of the city before I started working on mapping out anything else. I’ve got part of Luther’s Floating Fortress ready to go.” Damian picked up a base layer for some sort of metal superstructure.  
“I think it’s super sweet how you made sure to add everyone in! You’ve even got Harley and Serina downtown!” Dick knew for a fact Damian would take his compliments to heart.  
“Are you trying to map out the city for any particular reason?” Jason stepped back towards the door.   
“No, just an exercise in recon. If we want, we could use it to demonstrate large threats.”   
Jason eventually squat down near the harbor, checking out the ferry design.   
“You pursued this single-mindedly for how long?”  
“Three weeks.”   
“God you’re just like Bruce.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to be obsessed with legos, and as an obsessive Damian seems like he would do that.


	5. Patrol

Damian thought patrol was quiet. Joker had just been put back in Arkham last night, Penguin was already passed out at the lounge, Harley and Poison Ivy didn’t look like they wanted to move from their couch, and Mr.Freeze was busy helping out an ice cream factory. There were a few petty crimes to stop, of course, it’s Gotham, but nothing worth his time or effort.   
After he returned another gangster to police custody, he flopped onto a gargoyle to watch Batman stop a bank robber who didn’t even have a gun. Disgraceful. As much as Damian preferred swords over the barbaric hand cannons, an untrained fighter with a knife was an insult to his father’s skill. It only took him a few more minutes to decide to hop on the ferry over to Bludhaven.   
The ferry was always so easy to sneak onto. He just rode on the top deck in the shadows and flipped out onto the side of the boat to hide from people.  
He found Dick on the beat, standing on a corner.   
“Do you know any good confectionaries, officer?”  
Dick spit out some of his coffee.   
“Dude get down from there, that awning is like, rotten or something it won’t hold you weight.”  
“I’ve got a line on the roof, my weight isn’t on this.” Damian swung down and stepped onto the sidewalk. Pulling the anchor down and reattaching it to his belt.   
Dick muffed his hair and smiled down at him.   
“Dami, you should text ahead before you come visit me.”   
“How are your cases going?”  
“You know beat cops don’t get cases, right?”  
“You know what I meant.”  
“If you wanted to check on me, you could’ve just called.”  
Damian tutted at that in exasperation.   
“I want donuts, GrAyson.”  
“Of course, of course. There’s a little 24-hour shop by St.Eustace’s.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have barely an idea of Bludhaven's layout.


	6. Sick Day

Damian was a mess when he was sick. He used to get punished for it, and so tended to hide it until someone noticed. Here, of course, he wasn’t punished, but he felt comfortable enough to complain about it to anyone near enough to hear him. Alfred had trouble keeping him in bed or getting him to keep anything down. The cold he had this time was a doozy.   
He couldn’t see much. Or hear. He was dragging his comforter around with him. His sniffling was a great warning system for those who were avoiding him, either to not catch his cold or to avoid the wrath of the ‘gremlin’.  
Tim, Duke, and Dick heard him trudging down the hall to the movie room before he even turned onto the right hall. He opened the door slowly and crawled into the lap of the first dark haired figure he saw. Which was Tim. He snuggled in, assuming it was Dick, and passed out on his chest.  
“Dick… what do I do?” Tim held his hands up, away from Damian’s back.  
“Don’t move. He’s chosen you.” Dick had to cover his mouth, trying not to laugh.  
“Dick! He’s not a cat!”   
Dick and Duke had their phones out, taking picture after picture. They had to document this. Damian would die of embarrassment. Cass stepped in for a second, then stepped back out, returning with a face mask to give Tim and Alfred the cat on her heels.   
Tim stopped freaking out, patting Damian’s back once the mask was on. He’d need a good shower later, but Damian was almost peaceful asleep like this. He looked a lot like Bruce,with darker skin and some sharpness to his features clearly picked up from Talia. His comforter was getting too warm, with the feverish kid and Tim’s own body heat.   
Eventually, once the picture-taking died down, Tim fell asleep. Dick stayed in the room, playing the movie really low and occasionally glancing over to check on the boys.   
Damian woke fitfully, like breaths between drowning, and didn’t move. Someone was leaning their head on his and sleeping. It wasn’t Dick. Too small. He sniffed, listening around his environment as best he could.  
“Hey, Dami, try not to wake him, if you can. He finally got to sleep.” Dick whispered from the other couch.   
So Drake. Damian furrowed his eyebrows. How had he confused Drake with Grayson? He sighed and clicked his tongue, but relaxed again, closing his eyes. Drake was remarkably comfortable. He fell asleep again quickly, succumbing to his illness and the dull sound of slow breathing.   
Both Tim and Damian deny that this happened, despite the proof.


	7. Past

Jason wasn’t allowed out of the manor, unless he was in costume. He didn’t mind. He spent most of his time training anyway. He preferred strength training to agility training, of course, but both were very important. Today he decided to throw medicine balls onto a pile of foam blocks so he wouldn’t break the floor. Damian was there, but thankfully the little demon was staying on his side of the gym, avoiding Todd at all costs.  
They both worked on their respective regimen until it became clear to them both that the other had to be acknowledged in some way.  
“Spar with me?” Jason grunted first.  
“Fine.” Damian dropped down from the bars and started taking all the knives he had on his person out, resting them on the floor outside the sparring mat.  
“No weapons, no maiming, first one vulnerable has to yield?” Jason stretched.  
“Fair. You wouldn’t yield even if I had my thumbs in your eye sockets.”  
“Just make sure you have all of your knives out, yeah? I don’t trust you as far as I can show you.”  
Jason regret his words as they fell from his lips. It was just the same casual dig as usual, wasn’t it? Damian dropped his last knife on the pile and started stretching. He looked deflated.  
“Alright, wait, you know I didn’t-”  
“Just get on the mat, Todd.”  
Damian held onto that kind of remark, collecting them and adding them onto the many layers he hid his attachments behind. He would never forget it. He would never do anything that forced Jason to put trust in him, but he would never confess if he trusted him or not. Something about Damian made that stick.  
Jason had to prove the contrary, and words would not work. Just confessing that he trusted him, more to the point, he trusted him to watch his back and drag him home and destroy countries in revenge. He trusted that Damian could and would take down the world if he saw that as the best course of action to protect his friends. And that’s why he didn’t trust him not to do whatever it took to win.  
He stepped on the mat, and before Damian called the match started, grabbed him by his tiny ribcage and hurled him at the foam blocks. Damian cussed. Jason had bruised one of Damian’s ribs, but of course, this didn’t stop Damian from pouncing out of the foam to latch onto Jason’s arm, using his weight to pull down on him.  
Jason just looked at him. Damian didn’t weigh nearly enough to knock him over like that. He knocked Damian off his forearm. Damian was on his legs, quickly, to move them into an awkward stance and take advantage of that.  
“I was trained at the league, too, you little shrimp.”  
“I know, I was there, you disgusting casuist.”  
“What?” Jason knocked him off his leg.  
“Where did you think I was?” Damian rolled into his blindspot.  
“I thought you were raised like, in a secluded fortress somewhere.”  
“No, I was raised in the family quarters. Same compound you lived in for a while. You never questioned the baby in white robes? Covered in blood, staring at the battles?”  
“That weird kid was you?”  
“Yes.” Damian climbed up him and wrapped his arms around Jason’s neck.  
Jason rolled forward to slam him into the ground, holding damian down with his ribs and arms. Damian sighed and smacked his shoulder.  
“Let me up, Todd.”  
Jason let him up, then looked him over again. He had some issues with his memory from the time after he was resurrected, but the kid had stuck out to him enough to remember.  
“He never looked ok. Hyper-focused, bloodied, studying, or injured. How young were you? You still remember that?”  
“I knew seven languages and wrote five doctoral thesis before I had my teeth in. Of course I remember it!” Damian sat on the mat.  
There were a few things that phased Damian. Talk of Ra’s, mention of his intended fate, and any belittlement or implications of ineptitude. Out of all the Robins, Damian was the least affected by the Joker. He was severely affected by Ra’s, of course, but the Joker was barely a threat in his mind. Jason knew this. Even with how much Joker had dominated the lives of all the other batkids, Damian never flinched at his name. Damian had even beaten the man almost to death. It was kind of nice, knowing Damian would never have to deal with that.  
Something else dominated his fear.  
“Why did you never mention it?”  
“Because it doesn’t matter! It’s superfluous. Cass, you, Bruce, you all saw me there, but no one seems to remember me at all. It doesn’t matter that no one remembers the pathetic little worm they barely glanced at.”  
“It bothers you.”  
“It does not! You know what bothers me about my childhood, and it isn’t being overlooked.”  
“Then what does bother you?”  
Damian paused, looking down at the floor and calculating his next words carefully.  
“The executions and resurrections.”  
Jason sat down facing Damian.  
“How many times.”  
“More than I care to count. Grandfather would have me killed to teach me a lesson.”  
“And that’s all you were?”  
“A plaything? A prize? A weapon? Yes.”  
Jason scratched at his hair, taking a second to think it over. Dying hurt. Resurrections hurt worse. Half of him wanted to comfort Damian and half of him wanted to kill Ra’s again. He dropped his hands to the mat.  
“That’s horrific. You know you’re safe here, right? No one wants to hurt you.”  
“I’ve heard.” Damian closed his eyes.  
“If you need someone to talk to about the League abuse, you can talk to me. I wasn’t raised by them, but you know what they did to me.”  
“Thank you for the offer, Todd.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I have split this up into a few chapters? maybe two. But whatever.


	8. Language

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [word] means it is in Arabic.

Bruce spoke plenty of languages. He kind of had to. Damian spoke more languages than he did, but favored arabic, Talia’s native tongue, over them all. He muttered in arabic often, or yelled in it when he was upset.  
One of Bruce’s pastimes, when he wasn’t too tired or busy, was to listen to Damian’s little monologues. Damian talked about his feelings slightly more openly in arabic, when he was certain no one could understand him.   
[Blessed pieces of shit.] He’d murmur while competing with the others for blanket space or grocery bags.  
[Donkey, why do I care for you?] He’d grumble after watching Dick fall off a moving car or stepping over Tim in the hall.   
He’d compliment and question his attachments in the same breath, confused by them and perhaps even scared.  
[I do not need to be so close.] He’d tell himself in the kitchen.  
[He’ll use them.]  
[My friends are at risk. My family would be more so.] He’d glance up at Bruce.   
[May all your luck be taken from you] He’d chide when trapped in a hug by Dick.  
Damian was probably trying to hide his feelings, but Bruce knew.   
[Stop calling me that!] He’d push at Dick after being called ‘Dami’.  
Bruce loved the little nickname for Damian, actually. Dick didn’t even know the significance of ‘Dami’ in arabic. It’s a common term of endearment to call loved ones organs, or parts of one’s body. ‘My liver’, ‘my breath’, ‘my stomach’, whatever struck someone’s fancy at the time really. ‘Dami’ was ‘my blood’ in arabic. It was more fond than Dick knew.   
[Damian, stop insulting your brothers.] Bruce sipped his tea.  
“Wait, you can- of course you can. Mind your own business, old man.”  
[Maybe mind your language, my blood.]   
Damian almost dropped his hot cocoa and bared his teeth.  
[I’m going to switch to Mandarin!]  
Bruce smiled as Damian left. It would take him what, a month to learn mandarin? Damian could go on like this for a long time, but Bruce could go longer.


	9. Stars

Dick had handed him the package. ‘Glow Stars’ little mountable star-shaped pieces of plastic. They were glow-in-the-dark. They sat in his desk for a few weeks.   
He bought more, then started decorating his ceiling with them. Whatever he was doing, he needed to measure out the ceiling and continually check a map, a compass, and a protractor. Cass took the time to check the star chart, but kept her secrets.   
The stars had taken over the ceiling of his room. He removed the canopy on his bed.   
“Damian Lucifer Wayne, I think you’re taking this too seriously.” Jason leaned on the doorframe.   
“Shut it, Todd.” Damian held his pencil in his mouth to paste a star in the precise location.  
“What are you even doing?”   
“I’m making a star map so I can see the same stars every night.”  
“Is it of a specific location?”  
“It’s a star map. It is a specific location, date, and time.”   
“Oh. Where?”  
“Gotham City. Specifically, Wayne Manor.”  
“Wanna tell me when?”   
Damian dropped his arms, sitting on the step ladder.  
“The first night I was here. Eleven o’ clock.”   
Jason hummed and touched one of the stars, then dropped his hand to his side.   
“Have fun.”


	10. Splash

The Wayne family was on vacation. All together, for once! The press was going wild, writing cushy little exposés and other fluff pieces about outfits, hotels, and attractions they were visiting. For today, it was a recently acquired Wayne property, a water park just outside of Metropolis. It was a luxury waterpark, and it was empty except for them and a few select reporters, specifically Louis Lane, of the Daily Planet. She’d talked Bruce into one exclusive interview, with a primary goal of researching his homeless initiative in Gotham.  
So until their interview, he was there for all the paparazzi to snap photos of, and the two models who’d accompanied him tonight. Barbra and Cass were taking naps in their respective beach chairs, and the boys? Well they had the run of the park.  
Dick was laughing, going down the waterslide for the twelfth time that day, showing no signs of slowing down, dragging Damian or Tim along with him a few times. Damian was having a fine time laying on the wave pool, letting himself go along with it, far enough from the cameras and press to have some peace. Tim would happily answer any question, but wouldn’t get out of the lazy river for anyone but Dick.  
After a few minutes of Tim and Damian avoiding each other, Barb called Dick over to tell him her plan. Cass helped Barb out of her beach chair and into her wheels, so she could situate herself in the middle of the volleyball pool. Dick retrieved Tim, and Cass retrieved Damian. Damian needed a quick explanation of the rules, but he accepted it pretty quickly as a ‘pitiful excuse for training’.  
The Press went wild, getting out motion cameras and taking quick notes. One reporter was particularly excited, a former football reporter, happy to be back in the saddle of writing for something fast-paced.  
Cass and Tim were on one side, Dick and Damian on the other. Both sides were quickly over excited and thrashing through the water. Damian climbed on Dick’s shoulders. A few of the photographers might have gotten splashed.  
The stakes didn’t seem to have risen, still just bragging rights, but it continued to escalate until someone was stuck in the net. It was either Tim or Dick, but the chaos was a little too much to know for sure. Bruce finally got up and stopped it, declaring a retrieval competition.  
“I’m not Titus, father.” Damian muttered, but lined up on the edge of the pool with Dick and Tim.  
The models had already strewn the toys in the diving pool, looking amazing while doing it, and Bruce blew the whistle.  
Cass and Barb split off to get Barb into the pool, Showing off the accessibility of the facility and pulling some of the fashion columnists away from the fun.  
By the time Bruce was pulled away, Tim had been pulled into talking about corporate dealings. Dick and Damian went back to the slide and some of the games, the lily pads, water gun warfare, climbing the structures in the children’s area. Dick had figured out what buttons to push to keep Damian invested in a competition, rather than antagonizing the press.  
They stayed at the water park until well past dark. Most of the reporters had other things to do, but a few of the celebrity writers stayed with them. Bruce returned with Louis, invited her to stay, but she had to go get writing. The big guy who’d been following her around, Clark, behaved just chummy enough with Brucie Wayne to be suspicious, but Bruce brushed it off.  
Tim had eventually gone back to the lazy river, and was sleeping in the innertube. Dick ended up holding a sleeping Damian on his back when they made their exit.  
“Thank you all for coming tonight, but I think my sons need to get back to the room.” Bruce waved at the press, picking Tim out of the tube.  
Damian opened his eyes in the car, muttering about having to pretend to be sleepy.  
“You’re a kid, Dami, you’re gonna be our excuse to leave until you’re older.” Dick pat his head.  
Barbra laughed, turning herself around in the seat to look at Tim.  
“He actually is asleep, though. Maybe Tim should be our excuse from now on. We could say he has narcolepsy. The press doesn’t need to know he doesn’t sleep at night.”  
“No, it’s unreliable.” Cass murmured.  
“Yeah, but it’s reliable enough for all-day publicity outings like this.” Barb pat her back.  
“Dami?” Dick waved his hand in front of Damian’s face.  
The kid had actually fallen asleep. Bruce smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was supposed to wrap it all up in a neat little bow, but I kind of fell off the inspiration train. I hope it's still alright.


End file.
